To Hell With Pachelbel
Yes, I’m a classical piano geek. And no, I don’t play Pachelbel. Not even for weddings, funerals, or old people. Or any other occasion that doesn’t directly involve cutting off my ears like one very wise person named Van Gogh came to do once upon a time, for that matter. People ruminate what they get served, which will immediately make it lame if it wasn’t dull before in the first place: Pachelbel’s Canon in D, Beethoven’s 9th Symphony, Mozart‘s Eine Kleine Nachtmusik, or, what can only be used as a slow and painful death penalty enforcement, Ravel‘s Boléro. Heaven spare me. So for all of you victims of narrow classical bandwidth: You’re not alone. Come and suffer along with comedian/musician Rob Paravonian:
However, I must admit my all-time favourite deceased celebrity wig-wearer definitely is mainstream Bach. Disappointingly unoriginal, I know. Yet he genuinely does sound so clean and pure with his plain, disarming harmonies, knowing exactly how to take you to those serene places he promises. A rare quality, even for really old men. I therefore got slightly irritated about a quote someone once stated in recognition of my too many periods of excessive pianistic behaviour – a nightmare dressed in Viennese classicism:
She goes to bed with Beethoven and wakes up with Mozart.
How charming. (Mozart is of course a total pussy, but I possibly might still have considered it at the time, or so :D.)